


Into The Fire

by Adi_mou



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adi_mou/pseuds/Adi_mou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted the High Lord's daughter just to aim a blow to the human. He instantly regretted the decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broomclosetkink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broomclosetkink/gifts).



> not betaed, so all mistakes are mine.

Her brown hair looked almost amber in the light cast by the gold. He nearly groaned when he pressed her back into the ground, no doubt the coins and gems beneath her digging into her back, but he could not bring himself to care, the feel of her soft, pliable, decidedly _human_ body against his clothed one giving him an arousing visual contrast.

She spread her legs on her own accord, and he hid his grin by burying his face into the place where her neck and shoulder meet, slightly forked tongue flicking at the skin there, tasting her sweet, sweet flesh. Her smell was so much stronger here; this may be his favorite spot on her body, if he had a favorite spot. A needy moan escaped her when he pressed his clothed bulge against her warm, wet centre, and he took it as a personal victory.

She had been torturing _him_ often enough the past few weeks.

He lifts his head from her neck, and stared down at her, tried to keep his face impassive as her nimble fingers travelled up his forearms and traced the glittering golden trails framing his face ( _tattoos_ , humans called them) and he nuzzled her palm when she reached the faint traces of his scales on the corner of his eyes.

Her hands swoop down again, and he let her, let her drag the hem of the shirt up, helped her remove it by sitting up, kneeling at the cradle of her thighs. She sat up as well, the gold sticking to her back jangling as they fall off; her fingers explored his now bared chest, following the gold designs that trail down the sides of his torso and disappear into his leather trousers.

“Do…do they go all the way?” she whispered questioningly, blushing a deeper shade of red than previous, and he could not stop the smirk that spread across his face.

He brought a hand around her neck; pulled her in for a scorching kiss as such he had not had for centuries, before pulling back the tiniest fraction.

“Find out.”

* * *

 

It started with the humans forgetting their place.

 _He_ was King, of both Under-the-Mountain and over their puny, pathetic lives. _He_ ruled the land, and they dared to send a troop of thieves, burglars, _low lives_ to attempt to steal _his_ gold? (Granted, he never cared much for gold, but the dragon blood in him was attracted to it like moth to fire, he was not about to let _insects_ just walk away with it.)

He had clutched the band of thieves in his claws, and his wings had darkened the sky of the human town near the lake at the foot of his mountain. He had thrown them at the Building of the Lords, before landing and taking his human form. Ignoring that he was naked as the day he was born, he had stormed into the building, his nails still sharp as claws, his eyes no doubt amber and gold; he could have breathed fire if his human mouth would have let him.

He had not been this angry in decades.

The High Lord ( _pfft_ , High Lord, this man was not fit to lick his boots) had fallen at his feet and begged for forgiveness, babbling about how those men were rascals and not acting on behave of the town (lies, filthy lies) and “my King, forgive us, please, have mercy, I’ll give you anything you want, anything-,”

He had looked at the pathetic, sniveling lump of flesh before his observations about the man made a cohesive whole.

He smirked and said the first thing that came to mind.

“I want your daughter.”

* * *

 

The High Lord had not fought him, at all, and he had been gloating over his victory on his way back to his palace before it struck him.

He had asked for the thing that mattered the most to the High Lord, but he actually had no use for it. He did not need for companionship, the thought of even taking a human as his companion made his stomach churn in disgust. (Hobbits made infinitely better companions; he did so miss his Hobbit. But it had been decades since John visited, he had last seen him on his wedding day (given him a helm made of starlight).)

But the human kept true to his promise, and the girl was at the feet of his throne at the exact time he had said he wanted her.

She was not what he expected.

He had expected her to be fat, like her father, fat from overindulging in all the comforts being the daughter of the High Lord would bring. He had expected her to be dull and boring, with hands smooth from all play and no work.

She was none of those things.

She was small (petite) with an almost elfin face. Her eyes held more curiosity than fear, and her hands-

The stories they could tell him, their calloused pads, worn down nails, the tips of her fingers splattered with a sour smelling ink.

* * *

 

Her name was Molly and she spoke to him mockingly, but not enough to make him punish her (kill her; he could do it so easily). It was as if she knew he had no idea whatsoever to do with her, as if she knew he had only wanted her to hurt her father. She looked at him in a manner that made him uneasy (not that he would admit it, even to himself.)

He had taken to hunting for the first time in ten years (he did not need to eat for years, he was old now, so much older than what his human form showed.) in order to ensure she was well fed. She cooked (for himself as well) and cleaned without being told, though he assumed it was because of having little else to do. She was allowed to roam the halls but never his own wing of the palace.

He wondered if he kept her for long enough, would she go mad for want of someone to talk to.

She was not afraid of his dragon form, but she was curious. He could feel her eyes lingering on the gold markings that ran from the sides of his face and neck and stretched across the length of his body.

He could feel her penetrating, intelligent gaze on the back of his neck even when she was not around. The only time he was around her was during supper and that made it worse. He did not need to eat, but watching her wolf down the meat and the grass (he had no idea why humans needed some sort of grass or plants in their meals, it was a wholly evolutionary failure on their part, in his opinion) made something stir in him, made his eyes turn amber, made him want to preen even as the juices from the rabbit trailed down the corner of her mouth.

(Some part of him wanted to wipe ( _lick_ ) away those juices. That thought got squashed as quickly as it surfaced.)

These small glimpses of her were not enough for him, and one day he snapped.

“You…you can visit the library, if you so wish,” he said, itching a sudden scratch at the back of his neck. She had just started to clear away the remains of their meal (he had had one of her meat pies today, he was feeling slightly peckish and her cooking was good enough.)

“I can?” Confusion laced through her voice, but her eyes were sparkling.

He was mesmerized, and he did not care to find out why.

* * *

 

Molly turned out to be very, very intelligent, despite her father not giving her a formal education. She helped him along with his own studies, and her knowledge of the flora and fauna around the Lake proved invaluable.

She rarely asked for his permission to touch a particular book anymore, and he did not mind, not when she leaned over his shoulder and her small breasts brushed against him.

* * *

 

He had to leave for a meeting with his brother (he had not seen him in a century, but the elves were becoming restless) and he wondered if she would attempt to escape in his absence.

He was halfway out, the great marble door giving way to his strength (there was no way in heaven she could go out this way, but she was smart. He knew she could no doubt find one of the hidden passageways out) when he stopped.

“You will be here when I come back?” he hated that it sounded more like question than a statement.

“Yes, O King,” she said, her expressive eyes twinkling with mirth, and he could see that she was fighting a grin. “I will be here. I cannot escape, not now.”

He slammed the door and placed his palm against the marble, heating an ancient mechanism, locking the doors shut that no one but he could enter.

* * *

 

He came back sooner than he expected he would be, and he tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with the girl (woman) residing in his halls.

(His brother had seemed most disappointed in him, and he had a rapidly healing gash on his right shoulder to prove it.)

He had stalked to his quarters, but stopped at her doorstep on the way. He raised his hand to knock, and then thought better of it. It was his home after all. He could go wherever he wanted.

He instantly regretted the decision.

She had found the horde of elven dresses, and the one she had on now, as she stared at him, complimented her small stature and accentuated her curves most pleasingly. The back of the dress was still untied and she was holding up the front to her chest.

“I am back and I wished for you to know that.” He said as quickly as possible, hating that he had reverted back to adolescence. 

“I…Yes. I can see that.”

“You are still here.”

“Yes, O King, and you are in my bedroom.” She quipped, eyes glowing. “One would say it most unseemly, even for a king.”

He rushed out, swinging the door shut on her laughing face.

He ran to his refuge, shedding his clothes, nearly tearing them in his haste, releasing a sigh of relief when his form stretched and reverted to its dragon shape.

He buried himself in the gold, relishing in the feel of it pressing against his belly, his wings folded over his back, and tried not to think of a dream where she beckoned him in her room, and instead of tying up the laces, the dress fell in a puddle and his hands roamed over her smooth, pale skin instead.


	2. Chapter 2

He avoided her for the next few days.

He did not find it patently ridiculous and he did not call it avoiding per se; he just ensured that he and she were not in the library at the same time. He was not hungry, so he did not need to eat either, so he was not really avoiding her at mealtimes. He just found it unnecessary to partake in a meal that he had no need for.

He spent his time like he did before those idiots decided to trespass his land, he lay buried in his gold, enjoying the feel of the stones and coins and crowns of long forgotten dwarf kings sliding against his scales, stretching and folding his wings and ignoring the back room in his mind palace, where a petite human wearing a green bare backed dress was locked up.

He thought he was being very clever, staying in his dragon form. She would not dare approach him like this. And anyway, he had not given her permission to come down his hoard.

No one dared to disobey him. (Except John, but then, hobbits were not really his area of jurisdiction. He so missed his hobbit, maybe one day he could- he shut down that thought as quickly as it came. No point in getting sentimental about things.)

He snorted and burrowed down, until only his red, scaly snout and the black and gold ridges of his back and tail stood out from the pile of glittering gold. He closed his eyes and prepared for a nap. If his memory was right, and it always was, Molly should be deep in her studies of the human flesh and thus by the time he woke, the library would be empty.

* * *

 

The twinkling sound of metal jerked him awake.

His first instinct was to think the burglars were back again, but then a flowery-spicy reached him. He shifted so that his head was visible, and growled, “You are not supposed to be here.”

Molly had shrieked a bit, a purely instinctual response to the terrifyingly magnificent vision of the fire-red dragon raising its head out of a sea of gold, and had sat down on the stairs leading up to the door.

She sounded remarkably composed, staring at the one, large amber eye that was visible. “You have been avoiding me. Have I done something wrong?”

He blinked once. “You flatter yourself if you think you are so important to me.” He smirked inwardly. That should put this female in her place.

Molly kicked absentmindedly at a gemstone, and he tried not to feel offended. “You really are not subtle, O King.”

She used his title as a name, and he wondered what it would feel like to hear her say his name, his _true_ name.  

He snorted defensively, and tried to burrow back in.

“So, I will see you at dinner?” she asked again and he could _hear_ the sly smile.

“Fine, Molly.” Anything to make her leave him at peace.

* * *

 

From then on, he made it a point _not_ to avoid her. He was there at the library, both of them working on their respective studies, (Molly pored over books of every topic, the ancient writing of the elves, and the more recent writing of man, even the rough sketches of the dwarfs) and he was there at mealtimes (he was not hungry and refused to eat, making her uncomfortable with his staring).

* * *

 

He had been deep in his mind palace (looking for a way to ensure Molly’s room never surfaced to the forefront) when a giggle made him look at her.

Molly had been sitting on the futon for a while now, reading what looked like an ancient scroll written by man. It must not have been a worthwhile scroll, for he could not seem to remember it. He must have read it and then erased it from his mind.

She caught him looking at her and bit her lip in an attempt to stem the laughter falling from her lips. Her were glowing brighter than any piece of gold in his hoard.

“And what exactly, may I ask, is so funny, Molly?”

She was still trying to hold back her giggles; she patted the seat next to hers, indicating that she wanted him to sit next to her.  He tilted his head to her over properly, her sparkling eyes, a bright red flush on her cheekbones, her lips curved in a smile.

He sat down beside her before he even knew he had moved.

She moved closer to him so he could read the scroll properly, and all he could think about was the way her body was so close, he could shift a few centimeters and he could feel the cool human flesh, hear the beat of her heart, the spot on her neck where her scent was heady and strong…

He shook his head violently (ignoring the surprised look she gave him). He had been alone for too long, and now his mind was deluding him into thinking this lowly human would make a worthy companion.

He was throwing her out the moment she said something moronic, her father’s punishment be damned.

He focused on the piece of writing she was showing him, though her eyes were fixed on him, no longer laughing.

“ _’- the crow of the rooster is fatal’_ ,” he read aloud, “’ _to whichever dragon who hears_ ’- What is this rubbish?”

He watched the girl laugh out loud now, no longer containing her mirth, her face open and free and glowing; he did not know what to feel. He settled for petulance. Shoving the scroll back to her, he said, “This is obviously written by some low grade superstitious priest or quite possibly a rooster salesman looking to make a quick coin.”

She laughed again, turning to face him properly on the futon, pulling her legs up, hiding them underneath her skirt (frayed a bit at the edges, worn often, her favorite). He was suddenly even more aware of how close she was. He could count every freckle across her cheeks, every individual lashes on her eyelids.

“You look nicer,” she said softly, her words ghosting over his lips as if in a soft caress. “You look nicer when you are joking around.”

He couldn’t answer. His throat was suddenly very dry.

“It makes you seem less…lonely.” She was so _close._

Her hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, the faint traces of his scales around his eyes, the trails of gold framing his face. ( _What was the matter with him? He couldn’t move.)_

Her face (a sweet, open, _human_ face) became a blur and soon he could feel nothing except for the sweet taste of her lips pressed chastely to his.

* * *

 

It was like a dam had broken inside of his mind.

* * *

 

They struck up an odd routine that he found himself to be quite pleased with, even if he did not understand why.

He was still uncertain about how he felt about this, her curling up against him boldly every time they sat on the futon together, her slender fingers sometimes twisting the curls of hair at the nape of his neck in thought as she read. He was not sure if he entirely minded it, it was not an unpleasant sensation.

And sometimes, they would lie entwined together, him reading to her from an ancient language she did not understand but insisted on him reading to her anyways. She would press soft kisses long his ears and his trails, sometimes nipping at his jaw line before she turned his head to kiss him, an innocent kiss whose meaning he did not know.

She would tell him stories in return; of life in the lake town she was born. She would tell him of growing up with an ambitious Lord for a father, of being groomed for marriage to a wealthy Duke from a very early age (his arms would tighten possessively around her then).

Some days she would talk about her mother and her eyes would fill with pain. Those were the days he looked least forward to, even though kissing her tears away made him feel a strange sense of pride.

He allowed her innocent explorations, letting their tongues, his forked and reptilian, hers blunt and so very human, tangle in a sweet dance, him tasting everything cool and sweet about her while his body warmed hers  and made her writhe against him in glorious ways.

* * *

 

It was no surprise that after two weeks of her teasing him, her minx like smiles every time he would pull away from her, overwhelmed, the high level of pent up sexual tension snapped.

* * *

 

“ _Find out.”_

She bit her lip and he almost groaned as she slowly, painfully unbuckled and unlaced his pants, pushing at them ineffectually. He smirked but otherwise forced his face to remain impassive, his tongue flicking out to tease her breasts before moving swiftly down, sucking red blotches into the pale skin of her abdomen and hips.

He took care not to bite her, but the temptation was strong, to mark her, claim her, so that all of dragon kind would know she was his. The heady musk of arousal emanating from her made his mouth water, and he had to have a taste of her.

She keened as soon as his mouth connected with her center; he worked her wet flesh until a hoarse cry erupted from her, her back arching as her body grew taut at the apex of her pleasure, before falling back into his gold a tad painfully. He rose to meet her lips again, making her taste herself on his tongue, one of his hands rubbing at the back of her head to ease any discomfort.

He allowed her hands to continue their trek around his body, following his golden trails and lingering in places where his scales showed, unhidden by magic. He pushed off his pants and pulled her closer, his cock teasing at her dripping entrance. Her hands came to his chest, and she pushed him back.

“Wait, _wait-,”_ she whispered urgently, and he reared back.

“If you are not ready-,” he felt like a fool, she was a pure innocent and he was about to defile her forever, with as much thought as an inferior animal rutting in instinct.

“No, no, I am,” she said, smiling and burying her hands into his reddish-black hair, pulling him closer for a kiss. “You have been so kind to me…I just want to go a bit slower.”

He nodded, a small smile breaking free. He kissed her again, their tongues meeting in their familiar dance before he went to her neck, nipping at the soft skin there.

Her small hand encircled his cock.

He nearly saw spots, and had to bat her hand away, clasping it in his and entwining their fingers instead.

“My sweet Molly,” he growled, a truly wicked smile forming on his face, “you are not as innocent as you seem.”

She muffled a giggle, one of her legs coming up to hook around his hips. He hooked her other leg into the crook of his elbow, spreading her and slowly, _torturously_ slowly, eased the tip of his length into her.  She breathed in deeper, and fixed her brown eyes onto his golden ones. He tried to distract her from the discomfort, kissing her deeply and sweetly as he buried himself deep within her.

She clutched at the hand holding hers, and he saw the pain flit across her flushed face.

“Molly?”

“Move, _move,”_ she ordered through clenched teeth. He went slowly until she was arching up against him, making him move deeper into her, all traces of pain gone and replaced with pleasure.

She came again, another cry ripping from her and he wondered what his name would sound like, his _true_ name spilling from her lips at the height of pleasure.

Her body clutched at him, her orgasm milking his, and he kissed her clumsily, sloppily trying to show his affection for her, his trust in her and how much he valued her, this girl he stole, more precious than any of the jewels and crowns in this palace.

* * *

 

He lay awake afterwards, long body curled up around her, one hand cupping a bare breast possessively.

He was surprised at how quickly he had changed his mind about her, and he wondered if he should be worried.  If he should restart building his defenses, before what he felt for this girl in his arms destroyed his carefully garnered mental discipline.

Before he hurt her and sent her running, because in the end that is what he does, he breaks things, sets them on fire and destroys them to charred pieces.

Princesses were never meant to be with dragons.

But dragons are selfish creatures, he thinks as he draws her in closer, knowing that he should move her to her bed if she is to be comfortable (he is more comfortable here, in the true bed of a dragon). He kisses her and she turns around in her sleep, burrowing into the crook of his shoulder and pressing her lips to the flesh there.

Later, he thinks. Everything could be tackled with later, when he did not have his arms full of her softness.

He barely closes his eyes when he hears it.

The sound of the drums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Remember when I said there will be two chapters of this? I lied. The story ran away from me and formed a plot. Oopsie. But thank you all so much for the comments and giving this Smauglock a chance, because I thought you would chase me out of the ship for it.   
> Love to Laura for her opinions and without her a great portion of this would be in the rubbish bin. Love also to Aditi, for her thoughts and comments, even though I went and porned it up. Sorry, love.  
> And finally, a great big hug to Broomy, for whom this story exists, and I’m just so glad she likes it.  
> Leave a comment or kudos or a review guys! I read them all more often than I read my Law texts, they are that important to me.  
> Love ya,  
> Adi xox  
> P.S: And yes. Intentional references are intentional.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROOMY.  
> Oh god, I’m so late, I’m sorry. I’m also sorry for the ridiculousness of this fic, but really, someone prompted me to write smauglock AGES ago on tumblr, and I only just decided to give it a go. I’m sorry I had to pick your birthday fic to do it, but what can I say? I’m an idiot.  
> Broomy, I hoped you had a wonderful day, and there are loads of fantastic fics for you to get over the crack-y ness of mine, though of course, I’m still gonna finish this. I’m cracked like that.  
> And thank you guys for reading it this far, and hope you stay tuned for the finale. I’m gonna finish this before I go back to my regular WIPs, so you can bet I’m gonna finish this by this week. (we gotta get to the porn, right?)  
> Leave a kudos and let me know if you like it,  
> Love,  
> Adi xox


End file.
